


Candy Girl

by cherry3point14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bakery AU, F/M, Fluff, Not just sweet because of the sugar ya feel me, Seriously cavities, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, spnfluffbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 11:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15662448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: You spend your days creating the sweetest treats in town and occasionally having borderline flirtatious conversations with your favorite customer. But the question is, how does he eat so much cake and still look likethat?





	Candy Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPNFLUFFBINGO so basically FLUFF. Like a mouthful of marshmallow fluff.

“Ben! Come here and put this in your mouth!”

Your foot impatiently taps on the floor as you wait for your less than enthusiastic employee to trudge his way into the kitchen at the back of your shop.

“You know trying everything you make wasn’t in the job description when I applied, right?” He’s lamenting yet still his hand springs out to patiently wait for whatever you’re going to put there.

“I know, added bonus. Think of how many people would love to be fed by me all day.” You put the mini cookie dough cheesecake pie, that needed a shorter name, in his hand and bounce on your heels waiting for him to take a bite. As usual, he doesn’t ask what it is before he tries it, he trusts you won’t add pistachios which he’s allergic to, anything else is fair game.

Also, as usual, he derives his own pleasure from eating the entire thing with no reaction until he’s sure you’re about to burst.

“Well?!”

He cracks into a grin, “it’s good. Really good. What is it?”

“Well, it’s a cheesecake with a cookie dough base baked into a mini pie crust and topped with a chocolate ganache. I’m thinking about a whole line of them in different flavors. They’re not ground-breaking or anything but new is still new” Finally, you pick one up and eat it yourself since Ben didn’t die, the flavors all complement each other although the pie crust could be a little sweeter.

“No, they’re great. Just um, got any leftover cookie dough?”

He’s beyond predictable so you hike your thumb at the bowl behind you, “saved you some special, you animal. Did you wanna take your break now and go to town?”

He raises an eyebrow and flourishes his hand in front of him as he bows, “if you insist.”

You’ve long given up telling him not to eat raw cookie dough and you’ve long given up telling him not to eat quite so much of it. In fact, after you made him sign a disclaimer that he couldn’t sue you if he died there was no point fighting it anymore. Never mind that the disclaimer was a piece of notepaper with a hastily written declaration, a rushed signature and what you were pretty sure was itself a smudge of dough. You were sure it would hold up in court if worse came to worst. Judge Judy would allow it anyway.

It was past the morning rush of people loading up on sugar, coffee or both before work, so it’s the perfect time to allow Ben to gorge. You can take up the stool at the counter with a java of your own and start thinking of flavor combinations for your new mini cheesecake pies. And a better name. ‘Mini pies’ was not cute enough. Mi-Pie? Wow, you definitely needed inspiration.

“I didn’t know you could drink coffee on the job.”

You look up through your lashes, hand still poised over the notepad in front of you, not expecting inspiration to be standing right in front of you in the form of Sam.

“Well if it isn’t my best customer,” a smile blooms across your face and you jump up to move toward the display cases. “Although don’t try and rat me out about the coffee, the boss likes me.”

He grins that wide smile that always forces you to fight back a blush before he lets his eyes roam over the baked goods on offer. “What’s good today?”

You put a hand on your hip, mock offended, “you’re asking the baker to choose a favorite cake? You may as well ask a mother to pick a favorite child!”

Sam laughs, and it makes his eyes light up. You’re not supposed to be letting yourself get distracted like this while serving a customer but it’s not your fault. Not really. He just keeps coming back, bringing his bouncy hair that you wonder about running your hands through and that scruff on his jaw. Sometimes he comes rushing in wearing a suit that makes you think he’s a businessman of some sort only other days he’s here mid-morning, like today, wrapped up in flannel and jeans and apparently with no job to tie him down at 11am on a Tuesday. He’s an enigma, but worse than that, he’s infuriating. Your conversations are light and teasing but beyond his name being Sam you don’t know a great deal about him. What you do know is this. By the number of cakes, pies, and cookies this man purchases there should be no way he looks like _that_.

And by that, you mean unfairly hot.

For God’s sake, you have to have hired help and your willing friends and family to try out your recipes because if you ate as much as you baked you’d probably have had a sugar overdose a long time ago.

So, what, in all of almighty, is Sam’s secret?

“How about this Sam. A pie of whatever flavor takes your fancy,” because no matter what he always buys a _whole_ pie. “And some of these salted caramel cookies? Flavor of the month.”

He nods thoughtfully, “best of both worlds, right?”

“Obviously. The trick is not to go too heavy handed on the salt. What pie will it be today then?”

His eyes glance over the display before they snap back to yours, making you stop in your tracks as you load up cookies into a box, “what do you think?”

He always does this. Always refuses to make a decision and asks you to pick and makes you explain yourself as if he’s trying to work you out as much as you are him.

Or maybe he’s just indecisive?

“With salted caramel cookies in the house, you’ve got to go for a classic apple pie. I insist.”

“You’re the expert.”

When he says that you really believe it but then, you’d probably believe anything he says. You’d probably believe him if he told you the world was ending tomorrow.

His keeps his eyes on you as you box it all up and you try to ignore how warm you are when he looks at you. When you’re standing next to the register with the pink confectionary boxes you remember today's creation.

“Do you trust me Sam?” You ask with a naughty grin.

His eyebrows raise like he’s intrigued and momentarily you forget what you were going to offer him, a date maybe? No. Focus.

“I have some new creations in the back, as yet unnamed. They’re mini cheesecakes baked into mini pies, and there’s cookie dough and chocolate, it’s a whole thing.” You wave your hand casually through the air, “if I throw some in for my best customer think I can get an honest review?”

Sam grins and you almost melt, “sounds like you’re trusting me not the other way around.”

“Fair point, still I have a suspicion you’ll be nice whatever they taste like.”

“Oh, I will.”

* * *

Today is a suit day apparently. An early morning suit day, which means he’ll want coffees, breakfast pastries and no it’s not weird that you know that.

Ben is out sick today and Debbie can’t cover until after she’s dropped her kids off so you’re working the morning rush and hating every second of it. One of the perks of being the boss is you’re not supposed to be found behind the counter at 8am with hair stuck to your sweat slicked forehead and coffee split down the front of your apron. You’re a mess and not a hot one, and he’s standing there patiently waiting in the queue like he’s any other customer.

You would wish for nothing more than to go and hide in your kitchen, your safe haven, until he’s gone but, of course, you can’t because then all of these nice people would get fed up and leave with their money still in their wallets.

“Sam!” Your voice is too bright as you try to distract him from the shambles that you are right now. “Two coffees, right?”

You also try to distract yourself from wondering who the other coffee is for. A girlfriend maybe? It’s probably a girlfriend. Look at him. It’s _definitely_ a girlfriend.

He smiles at you like you’re not rushed with four people waiting behind him and it’s calming. It doesn’t fix your makeup, hair or life but it’s soothing for the soul.

“Yeah and can I get some pastries, any are fine.”

He’s so predictable that you could have had it wrapped up at the counter when he stepped up except then you wouldn’t have had your five minutes of Sam time. He watches you flit about with his order the same as he always does, his eyes following you from the coffee machine to the display case like you’re not being held together purely by the strings of your apron.

“Cherry Danishes today. I added plums and vanilla. Trust me, I’m a genius. They almost didn’t make it out of the kitchen.”

“Sounds good.” He mumbles counting bills and you instantly miss the way he normally agrees cheerily with your own assessments of your baking abilities.

You try to smile as you ring him up, although it’s a little deflated. Even knowing that you have no reason to be deflated, you’re just greedy for the compliment he normally pays. Plus your visit is so short today, fast and short and to the point. Like a normal customer, which Sam is anything but. To you anyway.

He grabs his drinks in their cup holder and turns to leave, the woman behind him is already stepping forward into his place, until he turns back at the last second. “Oh. The cookie cheesecake pie things need to be on the menu stat.”

Thankfully he leaves in a hurry after that, which is good because you start grinning like an idiot, heat crawling up your face and resisting the urge to giggle. Giggle!

Now you really had to name the damn things because Sam says they’re good.

* * *

Sundays were always busy but you reasoned that you had to take time off sometime so why not Sunday’s like the rest of the world? It wasn’t exactly like you took the whole day, you just liked to run on a Sunday morning. There’s a park not far from the shop, which is consequently under your apartment, and there’s a duck pond that works out to be exactly four miles away. You like to take a break there and watch the ducks bob about on the water, like the soppy thing you can be, before you run the four miles back, thereby fulfilling your exercise requirement for a few days. It’s relaxing mostly, except for the one time that you were almost attacked by geese. It was only almost because you were already in your running shoes and therefore had the perfect getaway plan.

You get out of breath faster than you expect today since you haven’t run in two weeks because last Sunday it rained, and you’ve been too busy to hit the gym as much as you’d like during the week. So, your pace is slower but consistent, and you’re happy with that. You’re not trying to stress yourself out, just enjoy a jog through the park.

When you find your bench it’s a little later than you’d normally be there. Even on a Sunday, you’re normally back at the shop by 6:30 because, you know, you have to get up early to bake things. Being an early riser, pun intended, is in your blood. Today it’s 7am when you sit down, stretching out your calves and letting your heartbeat calm down a little.

“Y/N?”

You’d know that voice anywhere so it’s no surprise when you look up and there’s Sam, his giant frame towering over you, blocking the sun from your eyes and, annoyingly, casting a glow around him like a freaking Adonis.

When you sweat, which thankfully because of your casual place is not the worst of your problems right now, you look like a wet dog. Panting away and just soaked through. But Sam? Oh no apparently Sam patented the athleisure wear model sweat look because he’s somehow perfectly glistening, t-shirt clinging to his abs just right and yeah, you’re not sure if it’s legal for someone with Sam’s legs to be out in running shorts.

“Hey Y/N?”

He sounds equally confused and amused, so you’ve obviously been caught staring. You could, of course, write it off as the sun making him backlit or something. Instead the question you’ve been begging to ask tumbles off of your lips without saying a ‘hello’.

“Is running how you stay so fit despite the sheer amount of pies and cookies you eat?”

Your hand clamps over your mouth as your eyes widen in embarrassment. There were certainly better ways to ask that question because now it sounds like you’re both judging him for being a good customer and also you called him fit. Please for the love of all that is holy do not pick up on the fact that you just called him fit.

He chuckles, and it sounds so different to when he does it in the shop. Maybe it’s the outdoor acoustics. He sits down next to you looking at the same ducks you’ve come to see, “actually I kind of have a confession. I’m not a big cake guy. I’ll have some every now and then but the stuff I buy it’s all for my brother. He kind of can’t live without pie. Says yours are the best by the way.”

For once you’re the one watching _him_ intently, looking for the joke on his face, it’s not there. And stupidly your one takeaway from this is to ask, “you didn’t try my cheesecake pies?”

You don’t mean it to sound as pathetic as it does and he looks a little bit panicked by your tone as he turns back to you, “oh. No. I mean yes. I mean- well you asked me to give you an honest opinion and they were small so yeah, yeah, I tried one of those. They really were great.”

That’s a relief for some reason. The idea of him having lied about that after you trusted him felt like a ridiculous thing to be betrayed over.

That’s when you realize the part you missed. He has a brother. The coffee is for his brother.

“So, you’re one of my best customers but you’re secretly a health nut?” This time there’s a small smirk on your face that he mirrors as he answers.

“I mean, yeah. Did you really think I could eat all of that pie?”

You cross your arms over your chest, “well you’re telling me your brother eats all of that pie so it’s not difficult to imagine _someone_ eating it, although yeah I wondered where the hell you were putting it.”

“So, I’ve heard. You think I’m 'fit' was it?”

Well, crap.

“I think you’re hearing things, Sam.” You nudge his shoulder playfully as you make to stand up. He stops you with an arm on your shoulder.

“I think you’re sweet.”

It’s the cheesiest, easiest line he could have gone for, calling a baker sweet, but damn if you couldn’t melt right on the spot.

“Is this where you tell me that your brother hates my pies and you only come into my shop to talk to me?”

You love making Sam laugh and this time is no exception, you just wish he wouldn’t take so long to answer you. “Trust me Dean loves your pies but yeah, the first time I came in was to find out who the pretty girl covered in flour was. Think she’ll want to go out sometime?”

“Definitely,” you grin making it to your feet this time and starting a slow jog away, “you know where I work right?”


End file.
